Perception
by Vvheelthewriter
Summary: MacCready meets a stranger in the Third Rail who looks at him and likes what she sees. But neither of them know that they already met ten years ago in the Capital Wasteland.


Home sweet dumpster fire.

MacCready sat on the sad wooden bench outside Daisy's shop while Nora was bartering with the old woman over a Fat Man they'd found in a super mutant den. Yeah, she better ask for a high price because MacCready nearly got his head blown off by a hunting rifle for it.

He was smoking, trying and failing to be discreet at it. One look from Nora and he'd be subjected to a lecture. She meant well, but he was fine subjecting himself to a little dark relief after the insane battle they'd just had.

When she'd hired him, he made it clear that he was a sniper. He had neither the stamina nor the strength to go shotgun-blasting into enemy fire. Unfortunately for him, Nora was very persuasive and he'd grown affection for the damn woman so he was going to have to get the gunpowder burns out of his skin sometime later.

Nora finished up with her trading, actively satisfied with the caps she'd received. She turned to the sniper, seeing him smoking but unable to contain her smile, "I'm spoiling you!"

"Good," he frowned, "I deserve a bath."

"Later," she zipped up her bag and trotted down Goodneighbor's main street, "I'm treating you to a drink."

He raised his eyebrows. A very clear rule of their partnership was that he was not allowed to drink. Nora hadn't elaborated why, but he was too desperate for caps at the time to protest. Now with Duncan's issue resolved and their partnership becoming more than a friendship, nothing was really stopping him from drinking except Nora's discomfort.

"Are you sure?" he dropped the playful nature, stopping in his tracks.

Nora still smiled, "Yes. I am, Robert."

He stuffed his hands into his pockets, following her down the street and into The Third Rail. They nodded to Ham at the entrance, who seemed perplexed to see MacCready there again after a while. The Third Rail was busier than usual, a product of a couple of caravans stopping by. Bunker Hill, with all its emptiness and post-battle burn marks, wasn't as appealing as it used to be.

The VIP lounge was packed, so they beelined for the bar. Nora was chatting to him about renovations she wanted to start making in Sanctuary Hills while he tried and failed to grab Whitechapel Charlie's attention. The redesigned Mr. Handy was floating at the far end of the bar, literally hovering near Magnolia and the guest she was entertaining.

MacCready scoffed, shrugging at Nora until the woman fished for a bottle cap out of her bag and tossed it over. It clunked against Whitechapel Charlie's head, capturing his attention as well as the attention of the two women he was near.

"Excuse me, ladies," Whitechapel Charlie grumbled, beginning to float over until Magnolia's twinkling laugh stopped him.

"No need. Nora, Robert, don't be strangers. Come sit with us."

MacCready noticed she didn't ask her guest if that was alright, but the woman's back was turned to him so he couldn't see her reaction. Nora tugged him along, a little too excited to chat with Magnolia again. MacCready knew Nora had gone on a date or two with the songstress, but didn't think it was his business to question the nature of their relationship.

Magnolia adjusted their seating, moving to corner Nora in undoubtedly a flirtatious conversation. It required her to both leave her guest and move in between Nora and MacCready. This left him sitting next to the stranger.

Now, MacCready wouldn't call himself shy. Wouldn't call himself that at all. But he didn't warm up to people very well and Magnolia's dismissal left him in an awkward place. Steeling himself, he ordered a whiskey from a grumbling Whitechapel Charlie before turning to look at the woman.

He noticed two immediate things about her. One, she was pretty. Not in a seductive Magnolia way. And not in a gorgeous Nora way. She had the air about her like she'd gone through hell and back and survived the trip. A wasteland type of pretty. The second thing he noticed was that she was a vault dweller. The tell-tale vibrant blue and yellow of her pants gave it away, though the rest of her uniform was covered by a leather jacket. A pair of dusty goggles sat perched on her forehead.

MacCready knew it was rude to ask vault dwellers about their vaults. Most of them were out of them not by their own choice. Sometimes they weren't vault dwellers at all and instead had stolen the uniform, but that was rare considering the vault suits were neither valuable nor did they provide much protection.

Her expression didn't give away any disappointment at Magnolia's disappearance, only a sudden interest in MacCready's replacing her position, "Haven't seen you or your girlfriend here before."

"Not girlfriend. Don't come in here too often anymore." He didn't mean to come off as biting, but whiskey brought out a sort of testosterone in him that he hadn't felt since his Gunner days.

"Your employer, then. It's alright, we don't have to talk." He looked at her then, silently questioning how she'd guessed he was a mercenary. She seemed pleased at his questioning stare, "Everything about you screams sniper. You've got a sharp stare, nimble hands, dare I go on?"

He was a little perplexed at how she'd floated the conversation quickly into flirtatious territory. It had been quite a long time since he'd genuinely bantered with anyone and he felt tongue tied. Still, her eyes were on his hands as she sipped her drink. He felt a blush crawl up his neck.

"You read people for a livin' or somethin'?"

"Hmm, bad guess. I'm a caravan worker. Magnolia requests specific deliveries from my employer sometimes and I like to make the deliveries." He was a little dazed at the way she ran the glass along her bottom lip.

"Goodneighbor isn't much to look at."

"The people are, though," he tried not to choke on his whiskey when he noticed that she was decidedly nottalking about Magnolia.

Fuck it. He downed the whiskey in one go, calling for another. The caravan worker was pretty, she was flirting with him, and his friend was occupied in conversation. Straightening his shoulders, he barely acknowledged when Whitechapel Charlie refilled his glass. He leaned a little closer to her and she smirked at his boldness, "You'll break Charlie's heart."

She laughed, a pretty sound that sounded far too innocent for the way their conversation was going, "He only wants me for my caps."

"Too bad. I can tell you're more than that."

She smiled again, a secretive smile, "You don't know the half of it."

"Then why not tell me?' He was genuinely curious. Caravan workers typically had pretty interesting pasts. They were by far considered top survival experts in the wastes. And if she really was a vault dweller, he could imagine it was quite a story to how she got this way.

"You can ask, handsome."

He tried not to lose his cool at openly being called handsome by someone besides a teasing Nora or an old lady, "Where are you from?"

"The Capital Wasteland, Rivet City mostly. You noticed my uniform. Got to get me a little more drunk to get the vault story."

He wasn't particularly interested in getting her drunk. Drunk people were sloppy, loud, annoying. She was the opposite of all those things and he liked her just fine. Besides, her secrets were hers. He might be keenly interested in getting her alone, but that didn't make them anything near friends. But that first bit of information interested him. Duncan was in Rivet City, not that she needed to know that. "What a coincidence. I'm from the Capital Wasteland, too."

"Really? Which settlement?"

"Big Town." Little Lamplight was more than too embarrassing to mention.

Next to him, Magnolia reached for her coat, "Robert, you wouldn't mind if I stole Nora for the evening?"

"Not at all," he grinned, charmed as always by the singer, "have fun you two." Behind Magnolia, Nora was blushing and insisting they were simply going on a night stroll together. In Goodneighbor. Right.

He gave her a half-hearted wave, still grinning as Magnolia pulled her upstairs by the hand.

"Robert, huh?"

He didn't even bother hiding his blush, "Yeah. What do I get to call you?"

She leaned a little closer, "You want a fake name or a real one?"

He couldn't help his smile, "Real. Always real."

"Good," she winked, "I like to be real. Klara." She held out her hand to shake his. He took it, a little distracted at the name. It felt, distant, familiar. Maybe he knew her from DC? He had many run-ins with vault dwellers in his youth, and many more run-ins with caravan workers, but he couldn't pull any details.

"Klara."

"Robert," she almost purred, "want to take a walk with me?"

He blinked, downing his whiskey anyways and setting some caps on the bar top, "Sure we won't run into Magnolia and Nora?"

"We'll go another direction," she gracefully stood from the stool, standing a little shorter than him. She was thinner than he expected, though he still could spot the curves beneath her thick leather jacket. Her smile said she knew he was looking.

As expected, she led him right to her room in the Hotel Rexford. He stood a little awkwardly in the doorway until she laughed, telling him to relax. She wasn't drunk, he wasn't drunk, and they were both adults. Nothing had to happen.

At her words, he sighed and shut the door, "Is DC still warmer than here?"

"A little bit. Haven't been there in a while."

"Years." Since Lucy died. Since Duncan got sick .

She didn't remove her jacket, but she was making adjustments around the room, moving her bag and unlacing her boots, "What's the furthest you've killed a man from?"

He blinked, a little whiplashed at the change in topic, "Uh, probably 100 meters I guess."

"So you're a good sniper, huh?"

"The best." He was. The Gunners were hard pressed to let him go for a reason.

"Ever killed a deathclaw?"

"Many."

She raised her eyebrows at that, sitting with him on the ripped couch near the curtained window, "How many?"

"Lost count after the Glowing Sea."

"You went to the Glowing Sea?"

"Yeah," he squirmed, not really enjoying those memories.

She reached into her bag, searching for something, "You like vodka?"

"You tryin' to get me drunk, beautiful?" Shit, that slipped out.

She blushed, suddenly losing some of that seductiveness. She almost looked shy, to his surprise, "Just thought you needed help relaxing." She handed him the bottle and he took it. They didn't have glasses, so he took a sip directly from it, grimacing.

She laughed that sweet giggle again, warming him more than the vodka. He grinned, "You seem very interested in the adventures of a stranger."

She was still smiling, not looking directly at him. The blush still decorated her freckles, "I've met a lot of interesting people in my life. You're interesting, I can tell. I like to hear about what people have survived, what they've killed."

He knew the unspoken words. She was attracted to danger, to violence. But not in a crazed way that raiders were. In a way only another survivor could. A coping mechanism. Maybe not a healthy one, but he wasn't one to judge. He was a little consumed by her bold interest in him. Usually people looked at him as just another product of their world, a scumbag merc. Or they didn't see him at all in the light that was the Sole Survivor. A certainly much more interesting story.

Her voice broke his thoughts, "You feel like bragging?"

Taking another sip from the bottle, he set it down before moving closer to the shorter woman, "What do you want to hear about?"

"How many deathclaws?" her breath was mingling with his, that's how close they were now.

"I really don't know. Maybe 20, 30."

"Sniped any of them?"

"Some of them. Before they could even growl."

She squirmed, visibly excited. He bit his lip, stirring in his pants at how much she was enjoying this. He didn't think he had much of a praise kink, but he definitely liked the attention. Before he could go into another story, she leaned forward and kissed him.

It was gentler than he expected and she tasted sweet. He didn't know Whitechapel Charlie ever mixed anything with the vodka he served but maybe he made an exception for her. He felt her hand grip his arms when he reached up to touch her face and pull her closer.

He hadn't been kissed in a long time and he was out of practice, but she was warm against him and her lips were full and sweet. He felt a little intoxicated. Leaning impossibly closer, she pulled off her leather jacket as he played with her hair and kissed down her neck.

That's when he saw it. Three numbers, sewn in bright yellow along the collar of her vault suit. 101. Klara . He did know that name. Shit, he suddenly knew exactly who she was, "Hey, hey…" he said softly, stilling her attempts to get his jacket off.

She stopped, looking at him in confusion and he saw her in a new light. It had been...shit...ten years but she more or less looked similar. Older, she had to have been reaching thirty at this point, but still the same eyes, longer hair, same complexion.

Watching his expression, she paled, letting go of him immediately. "You know who I am." Before he could answer, she backed up and stood. He knew she was going for her weapon. In a panic, he used the strength he didn't know he had and grabbed her, holding her against the wall. "I've killed bigger things than you, don't think I can't take you."

She struggled, but he pressed tighter, winded from the effort, "I know. You've killed...holy shit you're impressed by what I've done?! You're the Lone Wanderer, for Christ's sake. You've taken down hoardes of super mutants with a crowbar and a bottle of water."

She blinked up at him, confused by the praise, "You're not trying to kill me?"

He considered it. He considered lying. Just telling her he knew about her from his days in Big Town. See if maybe he could calm her down because, damnit, she was fighting him but he still really wanted to kiss her again.

But he was a good person. Nora said he could always choose to be a good person.

"Most people call me by my last name. It's been that way as long as I can remember. Only Magnolia and Nora call me Robert." She stopped struggling, stilling and allowing him to keep pressing her to the wall by her wrists. He swallowed. "We met in Little Lamplight."

"A crack shot from Little Lamplight…" she trailed off, thinking, "Oh fuck, MacCready ?"

He let go when she said his name, like she'd shocked him. He was flushed red from the fight and the embarrassment. He watched as the shock subsided and she blushed to match him.

She put her face in her hands, "Oh fuck, I'm a pervert."

He barely stuttered out, "I'm an adult!"

"Barely! You're what, twenty ?!"

"Twenty-three," he crossed his arms. So much for feeling boldened by her.

She gripped her collar in horror, "I want to have sex with Mayor fucking MacCready."

"Haven't had that title since I was fifteen, thanks. Wait," his eyes widened, "You still want to have sex with me?!"

She put her hands on her hips, "Just because you were a grumpy little shit child doesn't make you any less of a handsome sniper just waltzing into Goodneighbor like you aren't the most badass man in this garbage-stained town."

Well, the boldness was back. Still flushed red, but newly brave, he moved forward and pressed her against the wall again. She gasped into the kiss, deeping it.

So MacCready wasn't typically a rough man. When it wasn't sweet, it was casual. One and done, no turning back. But he felt a little different this time. For a lot of reasons, not all of them healthy. For one, he was really mad at her. Not only had she essentially called him a kid, but she also pretty much abandoned Little Lamplight as soon as she made it through their caverns. He hadn't expected her to become a permanent part of the town, but he liked her. She was cool and she respected his authority and he was more than a little attracted. He couldn't help it. He was a twelve year old boy and she was the first woman he'd seen in years.

But another reason he felt like being rough is because she really really liked it. She responded immediately when he pressed her against the wall. Abandoning her embarrassment, she began to shove his ratty jacket off his shoulders again. It dropped to the floor as her fingers scrambled for the buttons of his shirt. Breaking the kiss, she whispered at him, "This is weird. Is this weird?"

"Stop talking," he kissed her neck again as she finished unbuttoning the shirt. She let out a moan then. A real, actual moan that he felt all the way down his spine.

Off came the green button-up, leaving him only in a white shirt and pants that felt too tight at the moment. His hat was lost somewhere near the couch. He pulled her away from the wall, backing her towards the bed as her fingers fumbled with the bullets and his belt. She got them off as the back of her knees touched the mattress, "Wait, MacCready, don't we have to talk?"

He raised an eyebrow, not missing the lust in her eyes, "Do we?"

"I have no idea," she blinked, looking unsure, "I haven't met anyone after ten years before."

He played with the zipper of her vault suit, looking from it to her face. She swallowed thickly and nodded, reaching up and releasing her hair from its tie. It drifted down across her shoulders, concealing the numbered collar as he unzipped the suit and pushed it off her shoulders.

She sat back on the bed, allowing him to pull it down and off her legs. Skin by skin was revealed to him, covered in freckles and scars. Her blush reached her chest. He was surprised that her breasts were so full on her skinny frame, but she did spent most of her life in a vault.

She watched intently as he pulled his shirt off and removed his boots. He finished unbuckling and unzipping his pants, leaving them on as he crawled on top of her. Waiting for another nod, he kissed her again, pressing against her tongue and causing her to moan prettily. "Went to Big Town when I was fifteen. Shot a super mutant down from ten yards away. Right between the eyes."

She leaned up and nipped at his jaw, "Don't tease me."

"Don't plan on it," he groaned, pushing his pants off and reaching into her underwear. She gasped, arching a little.

"Cold fingers."

He couldn't help but laugh, "Sorry."

"I like your laugh," she blurted, causing them both to blush again. She looked away, "I'm making it weird again."

Grinning, he waited until his fingers warmed from her body heat to touch her again. He groaned when he did. She was practically soaked. Way to make a man feel great.

He kissed along her neck and collarbone as she squirmed, "Want you. Now."

"What, no more talking?" he breathed into her shoulder.

"You're the one who said stop talking," she laughed, shoving his hand away to kick off her underwear. He barely got a moment to admire her nakedness when she flipped them over.

She crawled on top of him, stunning him to silence until she touched his hardened length. A little roughly, he yanked his underwear down just like she did to him. She moved to touch him, hungrily staring at his member, when he laced his hands through her hair.

"Uh-uh. Want you. Now."

She giggled, a noise which sent a strange surge of affection up his spine. It scared him a little, but he was mostly occupied by Klara's ministrations as she positioned herself to sink onto him.

He couldn't help it. He was stupidly a bleeding-heart and she was so pretty with him inside her. He leaned up, pushing a little deeper as he wrapped his muscled arms around her waist. She gasped a little at the sensation, lips full and swollen.

He reached to unhook her bra, letting it fall off between them until she pulled it aside. As wild as the feeling of her was driving him, he could tell she was a little uncomfortable, "It's-it's been a while," she explained and he kissed her cheek, grinning. She blinked at him, a little shocked by the affectionate gesture. He hid the weird feelings it gave him by playing with her breasts, kissing the tops of them and playing with her nipples in his fingers. She moaned, squeezing him involuntarily and he yelped, "MacCready."

"Hmm?"

"Move inside me."

Well, he couldn't really deny her that, could he? He experimentally thrust up, keeping it shallow. But instead of discomfort, she let out a loud gasp of pleasure, "Like that?" he groaned.

"Harder," she whispered into his ear and he obliged, thrusting into her fully. He gripped her hips tight enough to probably bruise later as he continued thrusting. Her moans turned to gasps and hiccups.

Using what little strength he could spare, he flipped them over and laced his fingers in her hair as he fucked her hard. Her gasp turned into a shriek as she came, clenching him tightly. He grabbed her breasts, sucking her nipples softly as she rode her orgasm. When she was done, she pressed her legs around his hips tighter, "Don't stop, Mac."

"I won't." was all he could manage as he pounded roughly into her again. Her hands went from scratching at his back to pulling at her own hair. He reached up and held her wrists above her head with one hand, running his fingers down her face with the other.

She licked her lips, prompting him to kiss her again. She moaned into his mouth at a particularly deep thrust and he groaned. He wasn't sure how much longer he was going to last. She was so wet he could feel it on his thighs. Being a sniper did require sharp eyes, and his focus was deftly trained on her expressions. She was close, but something was keeping her from getting there. Tentatively, he reached to grip the side of her neck. He wasn't choking her, and his hold wasn't very firm, but it was just enough for her to tighten around him as she came again.

"Mac, fuck, yes, yes, yes ." She was panting now, legs trembling from the force of her orgasm. He was a little perplexed, seeing a show of his strength turn her on like that.

Still, he released her wrists to let her relax as he felt his own release build up. She kissed him hard, arms wrapped around his neck as she met his thrusts. He gasped, pulling back and out of her slickness to wrap his hand around his cock and come.

The noise he made was one of sweet relief, after who knew how long a time of tension and stress. She moved to the side of the bed, panting and sweating as he cleaned himself up with a rag from the bathroom. He came back, dressed in his underwear, and laid on the bed beside her to stare at the ceiling.

He didn't know what he expected. Maybe for her to ask him to leave. Maybe for her to call him a kid again and say it was wrong or a mistake. Instead, she weakly turned on her side and peered at him through her curtain of hair.

Absently, he brushed the hair out of her face, "Hey, Klara."

"Hey, Mac."

"Mac. I like that."

"MacCready is a mouthful. And Robert does not suit you."

"Nora and Magnolia call me Robert."

"They don't know how much of a brat you were."

He grinned, "Yeah, that's true."

She turned over, laying on her stomach and leaning close to his shoulder. Her skin glowed in the hotel's shitty lighting and he could see every scar and bruise mapped across her skin. He felt a stirring in his underwear. He wanted her, again. And again, and again, and- "MacCready?"

"Hmm?" he wasn't feeling very coherent at the moment.

"I'm proud of you." He raised an eyebrow at her until she continued, "You survived. You made it out here. I'm just...really proud of you. I wanted to grab you from Little Lamplight when you turned sixteen but…" her pleased expression grew sad, "All my companions die."

"Hey," he turned and ran his hand down her back, "none of that."

"Mmmh," she moved until she was fully enveloped in his arms on the bed, "are you supposed to hold one night stands?"

Oh no, he wasn't letting her do that. "When will I see you again?" She looked at him, surprise on her features. She opened her mouth but no words came out so he continued, "Don't act like we're strangers. You're my friend. An old friend, but one nonetheless."

"You calling me old, MacCready?"

"You're only seven years older than me. And you're gorgeous, so shut it."

She giggled, "Alright, alright."

"Answer my question."

Klara blushed, smiling and burying herself into his chest, "Depends on where my caravan is going. Had an offer to work for some lady named Cricket. Wild chick, could probably handle it on her own but she wants someone who won't steal from her jet stash."

He laughed, "Yeah I know Cricket. Well you let me know if you take that job offer."

"Mmmm I think I'm pretty convinced to give her a call," she purred, kissing him.

"Good," he played with her hair, "we can have the weird conversation later where you remember how I made you come twice after you called me a kid."

She didn't even look fazed at his bantering, "You know, I'm very competitive."

"Oh?"

She kissed him sweetly, a dangerous thing from the famed Lone Wanderer, "You get a five minutes to gain your strength. I'm calling you out, sniper."


End file.
